Memento Rosie: A Dedication in 3 Parts to Rose (formerly known as Nightmare). Part III.

Though Rose learned the difference between herself and the literary matter I wanted to put in her Favorite Hiding Spot, she managed to so terrorize Ilaya, our sweet wolf-hybrid puppy, that the poor baby got herself an identity crisis. Rose was an absolute bully toward Ilaya, and Ilaya wanted so badly to be loved by everyone in the house (she got her nose bitten by Rasta in the process, and Pimenta didn't really care, so that was better than being hated), that she tried to be a cat. Again, the proof is in the photo black hole that is the closet behind Thaïs's chair at the dinner table, but I swear to God, that puppy had inch-wide sores on the sides of her ankles for months before the calluses kicked in, from lying with her paws wrapped around her front just like Rose and Pimenta did. She had to fit in some way, as far as Rose was concerned.

My mom eventually tamed Rose, and I have absolutely no idea how she did it... I just remember her saying, "Come pet Rose!" and me shrinking away, saying, "She's gonna bite meeeee…" and my mom going, "No, no, just be gentle and she won't!" And then me getting bitten. So yeah, I wasn't real on-board with the whole lets-be-patient-with-Rose program.

But somehow, between the bitings, and the scratchings, and the siblings, and the movings, there came a point where we didn't have to worry if Rose was in the same room as baby Thaïs or toddling Tycho. She learned that we were safe for her, even if we did have a tendency to bring new irritations into the house specifically to annoy her - like Ilayas, and Thaïses, and Kisinkas, and Tychos, and guests, amongst other things. She kept herself to herself; guests who came over a second time would comment in astonishment, "I didn't know you had two cats!". Though she appreciated petting when it was given (but only where she liked being petted, and only for exactly as long as she wanted to be petted, these things being part of an arcana known only by my mother), in the past few years I was astonished on occasional mornings to find Rose on my bed, or trying to knock me over in an attempt to get me to pet her.

She had the loudest purr I've ever heard, an outrageous buzz that sounded more like a growl than a purr - there were several times that I recall hearing that noise while petting her and yanking my hand away for fear of Vampire Kitty showing up, and my mother saying soothingly, "It's okay, she's only purring." Her coat was a beautiful black velvet, and she was black through and through (even the roof of her mouth!), but her eyes were lime green and her teeth sharp and pointy. Her favorite pastimes were: getting fur on my mother's pillow, staring, prowling, finding places to hang out that best suited her obvious vocation of jungle cat, and kicking Kisinka's ass.

She died last night in a little nest my dad made for her in his and my mom's bed. She was 18 years old. Kisinka won't miss her, but the rest of us will.